?Chapter 1447:


    Maia sucked in harsh breaths, her pupils tightening as the terror from her nightmare clung to her like a shadow.


    The nightmares had returned. In her dream, there was nothing but an oppressive, blood-red haze. Chris stood at the edge of a cliff, his back to her. No matter how loudly she screamed or how frantically she ran, he never turned around. And in the end, he stepped forward — disappearing into a bottomless abyss.


    The suffocating panic followed her into wakefulness. Her heart hammered wildly, her chest taut and aching. She pressed a hand to her sternum, feeling the dread swell with no sign of easing. Sleep was impossible now.


    She slipped on her shoes, took the key Carsen had given her, and headed out.


    The corridor was deserted, lit only by the stark white glow that cast her shadow long and thin. The air carried the cold, sterile smell of disinfectant — a scent suspended somewhere between death and rebirth. Maia’s walk quickened to a half-run, and then to a full sprint toward the intensive care unit.


    But when she reached the ICU doors, she stopped dead.


    Through the thick ss, the once-steady monitor lines lurched in chaotic spikes. Red alert lights red relentlessly. Carsen and two nurses crowded around the bed, hands moving swiftly. Another nurse rushed in with an emergency cart.


    Something had happened to Chris.


    Maia’s stomach dropped. She threw on sterile gear and pushed through the ICU doors without hesitation.


    “Dr. Walsh!” Her voice shook, teetering on the edge of tears.


    Carsen was checking Chris’s pupils. He turned at the sound of her voice. Seeing her panic-stricken face, he pulled down his mask. Even he — normallyposed — looked rattled.


    “What happened? Did he get worse?” Maia demanded, gripping Carsen’s arm so hard her nails nearly pierced his sleeve.


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    Carsen nced at Chris — unconscious once more — his expression conflicted. He exhaled slowly. “No, it’s not deterioration. His vitals are stable. But…”


    He trailed off, troubled by the hope burning in Maia’s eyes.


    “But what?” she pressed.


    “He woke up,” Carsen said, his voice growing solemn. “A few minutes ago he came to suddenly, and his heart rate spiked to 180. But now… something is off.” He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “When he woke, his eyes were hollow. No focus, no recognition — nothing. He only asked, ‘Where am I?’ before slipping under again.” He paused. “His brain scans also show that even during deepa, his neural activity is extremely high — as if he’s trapped in an unending nightmare.”


    Carsen took Maia’s icy hands in both of his, his tone weighted with care. “Maia, as your doctor and mentor, I have to warn you. Abnormal cycles of waking and copsing like this usually indicate impaired brain function. You need to be prepared. When he wakes again… he may not be the Chris you remember.”


    “I understand, Dr. Walsh,” Maia whispered, meeting his eyes with quiet conviction. “But I believe he’ll remember me.”


    Memories of her life with Chris after walking out of prison drifted through her mind. The day they registered their marriage — Chris grinning ear to ear. Cooking side by side. Eating together. Washing dishes. Cleaning their home. Scene after scene rose up, tightening her chest until she could barely breathe.


    Maia steadied herself with a long inhale. “Everyone, thank you for your hard work. I’m all right now. Please let me stay with him.”


    Carsen studied her for a moment, then turned to the others. “If you’re exhausted, go rest. Anyone who still has the energy —e with me to support the ER.”


    “I can go.” “Me too.” Voices echoed their agreement around the room.


    Carsen gave Maia’s shoulder a gentle pat. “We’ll leave him in your care, Dr. Watson.” The others each offered the same small gesture as they filed past — trust expressed in the quiet weight of a hand on her shoulder.


    Once they were gone, Maia sank into the chair beside the bed and watched the monitors pulse with faint, steady light. She reached out and wrapped her fingers around Chris’s left hand, holding it firmly.


    “I’m here, Chris. Don’t be afraid.” Her voice faltered aloud, but inwardly she finished the promise. Even if you really do forget me, I’ll make sure you fall for me again.


    Morning broke.


    Pale sunlight filtered through the blinds,ying thin stripes across the sterile white floor. Dust motes driftedzily in the still air. Maia had fallen asleep at the bedside, her brows drawn tight, dried tear tracks at the corners of her eyes. Even in sleep, her hand clung to Chris’s — unwavering.


    On the bed, Chris slowly opened his eyes.


    It felt as though he had been dreaming for years. Everything seemed distant and unreal. But this time, there was no dizziness, no ringing, no suffocating weight pressing down on his skull. His surroundings settled into a stark, quiet rity.


    His gaze drifted from the ceiling to the beeping machines and the tangled IV tubes. Then itnded on the young woman sleeping beside him.


    He watched her in silence, his eyes deep and still — like an untouched autumnke.


    But the warmth that had once melted snow and ice was gone.


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